


Your hand in mine (this is how galaxies collide)

by maharetr



Series: Imagine Bucky - maharetr post [10]
Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Bucky Barnes Recovering, Comfort, Ficlet, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Past Violence, Prompt Fill, Touch-Starved, Touching
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-04
Updated: 2017-06-04
Packaged: 2018-11-08 22:25:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 420
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11091174
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maharetr/pseuds/maharetr
Summary: For months, every stray brush of contact had left Bucky flinching; a hand on his shoulder and he’d remember being shoved, a stroke of his cheek would send him reeling back into the memory of being punched...





	Your hand in mine (this is how galaxies collide)

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written for the Previously-known-as Imagine Bucky tumblr now [The Cryo Files](http://thecryofiles.tumblr.com), based on the anonymous prompt: "Imagine Bucky being touch starved but also not liking people touching him because he is still used to being hurt when he is touched. He would like to try initiating touches...but Steve,thinking bucky does not want people close to him AT ALL, won't stay close for Bucky to put a hand on his shoulder, let alone build up the nerve to go for a cuddle." Originally posted 15 March 2015 [here](http://thecryofiles.tumblr.com/post/113703223058/imagine-bucky-being-touch-starved-but-also-not).

Steve hadn’t been wrong. For months, every stray brush of contact had left Bucky flinching; a hand on his shoulder and he’d remember being shoved, a stroke of his cheek would send him reeling back into the memory of being punched. He wants the comfort Steve wants to offer, but for months touch brings only memories of helpless fear and pain.

The good memories filter back in later: lying in the springtime sun, Steve dozing on his chest, or Steve’s hands expertly working the knots out of Bucky’s back after a long day of work. Past-Bucky knows the feel of Steve’s mouth smiling against his lips, but to Bucky now, the knowledge feels as overwhelming as the memories of beatings.

When he’s alone, the confusion and the want bubble up as rage at Hydra, at himself; Hydra had taken away the comfort of touch, something he’d loved before the war, and he rages at himself for being too frightened to ask.

The kitchen table is safe. If he sits with his back to the wall, he’s got clear exits to his left, right, and straight over the top should the first two be obstructed. And the table is large enough that Steve will sit opposite him, relaxed and unguarded, especially in the mornings when waking up is a gradual process.

This morning, Steve sits opposite Bucky, absorbed in the newspaper (delivered specially, despite Stark’s offer of technological substitutes), his right hand clasped loosely around his coffee mug.

Bucky switches his own mug to his left hand and when Steve doesn’t appear to notice, takes a deep breath …

He brushes his knuckles against the back of Steve’s hand.

Steve makes a tiny noise of apology and shifts away. He’s barely looked up from the paper.

Bucky’s heart is pounding. He pursues, closing the inches across the tabletop again, resting the backs of their hands together this time.

“Oh,” Steve says softly, but Bucky can’t look up, can’t look any further than their hands. Bucky’s wanted something, _asked_ for something, and every fiber of his being says he should cower accordingly. Steve shifts his own hand, mirrors the curl of Bucky’s fingers, and lightly hooks their hands together. Bucky dares to tighten his grip — they’re all but holding hands now, and Bucky’s vision is blurring.

“Hey,” Steve breathes, and starts brushing his thumb in the lightest of sweeps back and forth over the side of Bucky’s hand. “Good morning,” Steve murmurs, and Bucky dares to look up to meet Steve’s brilliant smile.


End file.
